I Didn't Realize
by Goddess-of-the-Night04
Summary: Late one night John texts Sherlock asking if he ever thinks about how they used to be. Sherlock remembers it all too well. Excerpt: "Where are you? –SH" It's not what I want to ask, but it's a start. "…oscillating on the pavement –JW" "Come home –SH"


**Disclaimer:** I own no part of BBC Sherlock and make no money from this.

 **A/N:** I'm not going to lie: it's a lot of angst inside Sherlock's head as he remembers how good things used to be with John, how easy, before he ruined everything because he simply didn't realize soon enough.

But John comes back and they figure it out and it's happy ending. So I hope you can bear with me.

* * *

 **Do you ever think about how we were before? –JW**

 **Shit, I didn't mean to actually send that –JW**

 **Don't feel obligated to answer –JW**

I read the text messages, sent at such a late hour on a Friday that you must either be inebriated or fighting with your wife. I sigh heavily, allowing my head to drop to the back of the couch as my eyes close against the pain in my chest.

As of late, I have frequently found myself looking back on our acquaintance with this new feeling of pain and wrongness in my gut. I cannot help but come to the unfortunate conclusion that I may have not fully understood what I had until I no longer did. Until I lost you to her.

The order of events are a bit jumbled in my mind, because I took them for granted by not realizing what they were. I didn't realize what your fond looks meant. I didn't realize what you calling out for me in the night meant. I didn't realize that you putting up with so much from me might have meant…

I didn't realize that you may have fallen in love with me.

I didn't realize. I was too scared to.

Back to the beginning, then.

We hit it off right away, something that can't really be said for me and _any_ new person. You accepted that I was a bit odd and I accepted that you were a bit broken. Neither of us minded that the other wasn't perfect; in fact, it only seemed to make it a bit easier.

You moved in quickly, bringing your nightmares with you. You would scream out either wordlessly or the names of those you lost in the war. Your charges, your leaders…your friends. You would wake up sobbing to find me standing in your doorway with a cup of tea and an understanding look in my eyes.

People think that I'm an asshole because I hate people or don't understand human nature, but the truth is that I understand it _too_ well. It started as a child, my empathy, but no one in my family helped me refine or control it, so it ends up suffocating me if I don't distance myself from others. Being able to easily feel what others feel helps my disguises and undercover work come across as genuine, but prolonged openness to my empathy can leave my brain confused and I get angry so that I have a reason to be alone to find myself again.

But there are people like you who I don't mind being near for extended periods of time. I recognize now that it's more calming to have you around than to not, but it's a fact I've realized too late.

After the pool incident where Moriarty strapped you to a bomb and you offered to die with me, it was _my name_ you started calling out at night, but you would no longer accept tea to ease your troubled mind; only my presence could do that. I never really thought twice about the arrangement: you needed comfort and I enjoyed the feeling of being needed, so as your arms would wrap around me and your chest pressed closely to my back, I would smile as I allowed sleep to overtake me.

We never cuddled when you had a girlfriend. It wasn't anything we ever discussed – hell, we rarely ever even mentioned the fact that cuddling was a thing we did rather frequently – but it seemed proper not to confuse things in that way. But inevitably the relationships all ended and I would return to your arms when you'd call out.

There is this one particular day that stands out in my memory. I look back on it now and I…there's this strange juxtaposition of fondness and aching melancholy.

Mycroft ordered me on a case to Munich (dignitary drama or some such rubbish, I don't even care to remember) and demanded that I fly there. I detest flying. What with the terminal gates, an excess of people, the high risk of contracting an airborne illness, and the potential for nearly a hundred things to go wrong, some would label it as a fear of flying. Okay, they'd be right: I have flight anxiety. But the case was time sensitive and they could not wait for me to take a train there instead.

You cancelled plans to come with me. The case itself was fairly simple, it mostly just needed to not involve the police which is why I was called in, and you won't even be able to release the write-up about it for another 10 years thanks to the non-disclosure agreement we signed. You had no reason to come along, but you did anyway so that I wouldn't need to fly alone, not mentioning a single word about it. Once done, you asked me if we could take the train back instead; you claimed to have never used the high-speed form of travel before, but it was a lie.

For me, you sat on a train for 9 hours instead of forcing me back on a mode of transportation that causes me anxiety and pretended to enjoy it.

Looking back at everything, I think that point of our friendship was the happiest we ever were.

"And then I miscalculated and ruined everything," I say aloud to no one, my disdain for myself radiating through me.

Moriarty came back and I tried desperately to keep you safe. I left you. It was the hardest thing I've ever done and I never should have followed through with it. I don't know how else I was supposed to manage it, but seeing the look on your face when I returned told me everything.

We would never be the same again.

And now you're married to someone else, and I only have myself to blame. She reminds me of myself in so many ways that I can't help but wonder if I ever stood a chance with you, had I had the guts to try.

The truth about my life is that I've never been very good when it comes to people, but I have always longed to find someone to spend my life with, just like everyone else.

How could I not have realized that you were what I was looking for _before_ I lost you?

But you chose her and I have only ever wanted you to be happy. That's why I stayed with you at night when the nightmares would come. That's why – when you asked me to be your best man – I pushed aside the gut-wrenching pain and helped the two of you plan the perfect day.

And now you have a baby and any hopes I ever had of feeling your arms wrapped around me, your chest pressed to my back once more, are shattered.

Like my heart.

I had no idea I could allow myself to feel this much regret.

I will never have you back the way I once did, and I have no one to blame but myself. If only I had realized the signs for what they were before it was too late…

And now you ask me if I ever think about it? You? Us?

 _All the time –SH_

 **Me too –JW**

How can I ask you what my heart is begging me to? I'm so tired of pretending, so tired of worrying about your wife who shot me, so tired of this aching emptiness.

 _Where are you? –SH_

It's not what I want to ask, but it's a start.

… **oscillating on the pavement –JW**

 _Come home –SH_

The door to the street opens almost immediately; you pause briefly to remove your coat. My heart races as I hear your cautious footsteps and reflect that 17 stairs have never taken this long to climb before. I stand from the couch and watch the door with warring feelings of trepidation and hope.

You enter and place a duffle at your feet sheepishly, looking uncertain.

Could you possibly think for one second that I would turn you away? I _can't_ ; I don't know how.

"I left," you say unnecessarily. So, a fight with Mary after all.

"Yes," I agree, unwilling to fall back on my snark.

You move silently towards your chair, still where it belongs, and I move to mine. We sit staring at each other for a few long moments before you speak up again.

"Have you already deduced what happened, or are you going to make me say it?"

"You had a nightmare," I state, "that's all I can tell," I've always had a bit of a blind spot when it came to anything too in-depth with you.

You purse your lips and search my eyes vulnerably, almost like you're looking for something. This is a moment that could change everything and it scares the piss out of both of us.

"I called out for you," you admit before allowing your gaze to fall to the floor, "like I used to."

"Why?" I ask honestly.

Your gaze lifts and I almost wish it hadn't. You look so scared, anguished, and tired. Your head tilts and you lick your lips, "Because…" you start, but fumble for where to go next. Your eyes flicker away for a brief second before returning resolutely to mine, "she's not you. That sounds stupid but…" you shake your head and direct the next bit to the desk, "I'd hold her and it wouldn't ease my fears. She wasn't as understanding as you and she felt wrong and she _smelled_ wrong and…"

I can't help the single shocked chuckle that escapes at the words. You look back at me, confused and a bit defensive now.

"I'm sorry, but she _smelled_ wrong?" I smirk, eyes shining with affection.

You smirk in return as you roll your eyes, "You know what I mean."

I sober my face to a simple smile that reaches my eyes, "Yes," I agree.

We simply stare at each other until you move closer to the edge of your seat, and I mirror it without fully realizing. Slowly, your left hand reaches for my right and we both stare at your thumb moving softly over mine.

"I've missed this," you whisper, eyes still lowered.

"Me too," I quietly agree.

Your eyes meet mine, closer now but no less honest.

"It's always been so easy to be close to you. Why is that, Sherlock?"

"Because…we love each other," I state even though it feels like more of a question within me, "Don't we?" I can't help but add at the end.

You smile brightly and grasp my hand tighter, "Yes," you agree.

I honestly can't remember who started the kiss, but suddenly you're in my lap, kissing me as though you have never wanted anything more.

When you pull back, your smile is still radiant, "Sherlock, do you remember what brought me here?"

I have to think back to actually remember it, but when I do I grow a bit nervous wondering if you're alright, "You had a nightmare," I say, eyes scanning you for signs of distress.

You place your hand below my chin so that my calculating eyes meet your mischievous ones again before nodding your head and saying, "Yes," intently.

I relax and smile in return, "I know precisely what you need," I say before guiding you up and leading you by the hand to my bedroom.

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 **A/N:** As always, I would love to hear your thoughts via comment or constructive criticism!

Follow me on Tumblr at goddess-of-the-night04 for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)


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